Yuck.

I still feel like some vindictive asshole took a wrecking ball to my sinuses. It's about as fun as it sounds. In the absence of a real post, here's a picture of Gabriel circa 2006:

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Letter to my heart

Dear Heart,

First, I have to apologize for all of the times I haven't listened to you. Thing is? My head has a WAY better thing going when it comes to fundamental logic, not to mention knowing the big words. Especially when it counts.

I know I've foolishly turned my back on people when you were begging me to wrap them up in my arms and keep them forever. Even more foolishly, I've stuck around despite all of your desperate pleas to leave, just because I felt compelled to Do The Right Thing.

I should have done the right thing for you.

If I could do it again, I would tell him I liked him. And I would tell him that I loved him. Really loved him like I didn't even know you could. And him? I would have told him that I honestly don't have the time to take care of anyone but myself.

I spend so much time looking the other way and pretending that you're not a part of me; I don't know if I could figure out how to listen to you. Not even if I wanted to. My life has always been so much easier when I can look at the deeds, the things, the facts. Even writing this, I STILL don't know if I would hear you, if you decided to start talking. I don't know if I can get you to talk. Are we even speaking anymore?

Dear heart, I love you. At least, I think I love you. Could you tell me if that's true?

Thanks,

Me

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And then I joined the circus

My mom licked my arm, and she doesn't think it's very salty. She also licked my sister, herself and Elliot, for comparison. That's what mothers are for; licking you just to let you know that you probably don't have cystic fibrosis.

My work computer is still all matter of FUBAR, so I spent yesterday afternoon filing my taxes. I'm getting a bigger return than expected, and you can trust that I could use the money right now. K (who shall henceforth be known as Donk-Wad), is referring to me as "the nameless one," so I'm thinking I won't be getting any voluntary child support any time soon, and I'll just have to wait for my official judgment to go through. Maybe I can buy one extra fun thing, but I think that mainly I have to work this into my budget for the rest of the year.

I've hated this week. I mean, it's not like the worst week of my life by any means, but (aside from Gabriel's birthday, which was loverly) it's just been one giant Suck of sickness and headaches.

This morning I sat next to this guy on the bus who smelled so strongly of the Mary-Jay-Juana that I'm pretty sure I'm stoned right now. This, despite the fact that my sinuses have suffered a Total System Failure, and I can otherwise smell nothing at all. I'm thinking maybe he was so very very stoned that he was somehow leaking some sort of weed pheromone that I soaked up through my pores?

Donk-Wad is supposedly taking Gabriel this weekend, and it's possible I could rally the troops for Saturday night, but I'm not ready to come home in a baby blanket again, and may, therefore, be taking it easy. By the way writing that sentence was really hard because first I typed troupes instead of troops, and then I went to fix it and was like, hold up there partner, maybe I should rally the troupes instead? Wouldn't that be ideal? Does anyone know of an available troupe? I've been feeling a bit under the weather you see, and could use the pick-me-up.

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No I'm not talking about that! Just the dentist is all. The DENTIST!

I've decided to take the high road, and not officially talk about this on my blog. However, I just have one teeny, tiny thing to say. Slander is spoken, libel is written. And don't call our son spineless, okay?

I took Gabriel to the dentist this morning...for the first time. I? Rock. I would've taken him earlier, but he was still on Healthy Families until Jan. 1st of this year, and my dental choices were terrifyingly ghetto. If I hadn't known that I was switching him to my insurance as soon as They would let me, I would have sucked it up and either paid out of pocket or gone to Scary Dental Clinic. But I knew, and I waited.
I took him to a pediatric dentist because my sister had bad luck taking her kids to our regular dentist, simply because he doesn't have the proper equipment for tiny mouths.
Gabriel doesn't have any cavities, and I apparently brush his teeth enough, and he was really well behaved, so that was all good.
His dentist creeps me out in a very vague sort of a way, so that's bad. He kept saying things like, "I'm really jazzed that you chose to bring your son to our office," and "You should be totally psyched, Gabriel's teeth look great."

I'm still dying of...something.

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The day that wasn't

Gabriel kept me up all Monday night with his aches and pains, so I had no intention of taking him anywhere but the doctor when we got up in the morning. I called into work to let them know that I'd be late, and I made an appointment.

When I called school to tell them Gabey wasn't coming, the director said, "Yeah he was sick yesterday, he fell asleep during circle!" And I said, "What what what? He was sick at school??" "Don't tell me the teachers didn't tell you!" "No, Gabriel's dad picked him up, so he didn't tell me." Seriously yo? When exchanging the offspring, an exchange of pertinent information is a common standard. My kid passing out in the middle of circle time? I consider it pertinent.

So we got to the doctor, where I happened to see the World's Tiniest Sign in the Most Obscure Corner on the Planet. Which said that p.s. your doctor is closing his doors. On Friday. Thanks for the notice? I hope we don't need any follow up just yet?

Gabriel's pediatrician was also my pediatrician, and he saw all my sibs, sees my nephews and cousins, and knows our family. So while he was peaking in Gabey's ears (yes! infection!) we were talking about how I still get ear infections all the time, and my bad ears/nose/throat combo, and how my lungs are broken. And Dr. says, "I think you might have a mild case of cystic fibrosis. You should ask your primary care doctor for a test."

Then I took Gabriel up to my parents' house, where I thought my dad was meeting me at 11:30, but he thought he was meeting me at 12:30, so when he got there I was all pissed, but he was still doing me a favor so I shouldn't have been. I FINALLY got to work at 1.

Then I talked to my mom and my sister on the phone. It was at THAT point that I realized the following:

(a) yes it's weird for your doctor not to notify you when he disappears into the ether
(b) Gabriel has lost 3.5 lbs since the end of August, which is something like 12% of his total body weight, which is sort of alarming. I'm officially concerned.
(c) cystic fibrosis is a big deal. Especially when you google it and you read about dying babies and life expectancy of 30ish.

RE the doctor retiring: That's fine, he's old, I have a new doctor lined up. I am curious though, as I sense a scandal (in December there was no word of the practiced being shuttered).

RE Gabriel's weight loss: I spent 2 1/2 years perpetually anxious, trying to Feed! Gabriel! More! He's one of those people who simply cannot be bothered you see. He doesn't particularly like food, or eating it. I finally decided that if I just let it be, he would eat what he needed to eat. He was probably eating a lot at school! Which makes up for how little he eats at home! Don't make a big deal out of it, that can only backfire. This strategy seems to have failed. I'm back to Plan A: Follow My Kid Everywhere With Food/Bribe Him Into Eating. I'll report back to you on that.

RE Cystic fibrosis: I feel a mite silly making an appointment to get tested because my son's doctor thinks that I get too many ear infections, especially if the diagnosis doesn't do anything but give me something on which to focus My Crazy. There aren't any particularly effective de-mucusing drugs out there. I've checked.
I would continue on my path of self diagnosis, but I can't quite figure out how to approach someone with the request that they lick me and judge my sweat for relative salt content. And that's seriously what They recommend on Web MD. Also? I don't wish to shorten my own life expectancy without cause.

Back to yesterday as a Giant Suck, my work computer crashed, and then I.T. was working on it all day, so I might as well not have gone through all of the ridiculousness to make it in since I couldn't really do anything once I got there.

I have a cold and it's driving me crazy.

I had to drive my uncle Jono home from my parents' house. I know it's mean but I HATE driving him. There's just too much legitimate insanity. I can't possibly be expected to hold up my end of a conversation about whom in our family should take it upon themselves to study German. In case we're ever invaded.

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I would be thrilled if I was sleeping right now

I'm 102.7% sure that Gabriel has an ear infection. This comes as no surprise, really, since he woke up on Sunday morning whimpering about his hurt ear. Once we were up and out of bed he seemed to forget about it, and my pediatrician says that 80% of ear infections go away on their own, so I decided to pretend it wasn't true.

And, well, this morning Gabriel seemed a trifle sniffly. A tad bit under the weather, but it was his birthday! He's already stayed home sick on Halloween, I just knew today was a day that he'd WANT to go to school. Besides, 80% of ear infections get solved on their own terms, right? RIGHT?

At his after-school party, he definitely showed off his inner Birthday Troll, and while I could tell that we were fast devolving, I was also pretending that it wasn't true.

It became impossible to continue this charade when, with a weeping, feverish child on my hip, I made the tragic discovery that we are OUT OF TYLENOL. This horror did not make itself known until 5 minutes after the close of urgent care. Faced with the choice of either packing us off to the ER or suffering through the next 7 hours with a weepy toddler, I'm holed up in bed, prepared to sacrifice my night's sleep in the comfort of my own apartment. Right now I have Fantasia on so that when he wakes up to whimper (approx. every ten minutes), there's something to distract him, but it's not so distracting as to actually keep him awake.

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Three

It's been a good year.

I love you.

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Don't worry I waited awhile before I drove home

When I woke up this morning, my most burning question was this: Where was my coat, and why did I wear a baby blanket home, and where did that blanket come from, and at what point did I make that switch? Okay that was more like four questions.

But seriously guys. I know I was wearing my weird homeless man coat last night, but there's a big difference between wearing a legitimate article of clothing and WEARING A BLANKET DRAPED OVER YOUR SHOULDERS. (As I was writing this I remembered that the polyester baby quilt was from the hedge outside Jack in the Box).

Also of note:

A caveat (as I understand it) is a warning or caution. Against something. So you can't just start up a conversation with no point of reference with the line, "There is a caveat." A caveat to what? Do you know what caveat means, or are you just trying to sound smarter than you actually are? Also, your caveat was that your bathroom wall was splattered with blood, and it actually was. A caveat to that caveat was that you have bed sores. I was sort of creeped out, yo.

We left the bar to go to a party, and we stopped at the liquor store for cheap champagne and miniature bottles of pink wine. And then the party didn't look like a party, so we stood on the street and drank one of the bottles of champagne and all of the wine. Then we went to Callahan's, and I brought the other bottle of champagne inside, and that action went curiously undetected. So we drank that bottle too. But the bartender thought it was overly suspicious that we came in, went to the back room, and didn't buy any drinks, so then we all also bought drinks.

I may have had too much to drink last night.

Lucky for us Jenny was driving, so she drove us through the drive thru at Jack in the Box. You KNOW how I feel about that drive thru. Srsly. Then we went up to my sister's apartment and ate. It was somewhere in here that I switched out my jacket for a strange mystery blanket, because I arrived at my sister's wearing it.

Pictures!

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Misty Saturday Walk

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Reduced Guilt

It doesn't work if you eat it all in one sitting. Especially if you spend that time staring into space, ignoring your offspring.

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A little bit of this and a little bit of that

The deadline to submit entries for Oh, The Joys ROFL Awards is Wednesday, February 4th. I'm nominating Swistle's post MAY CAUSE BLINDNESS. Because it's hilarious. And great.

Today marks my parents' 31st anniversary, the 34th birthday of Gabriel's dear Pa, and (as mentioned by Elizabeth and Molly) Kate's birthday. Kate's pretty much awesome, as evidenced by this photo, where she seems only slightly bothered by the fact that I'm groping her bosom:

Tonight I get to spend the night at my parents' house because they're going to Calistoga for the weekend and they don't want my bratty teenaged brother to throw a party. Also they want someone to tend the fire, and let the dogs in if it's raining.

All of the pieces of my computer that I need to DO MY JOB seem to be broken in a computer-crashing-fatal-error type way. But the internet works. So that's something. Right?

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Gabriel's Ouch

You can see his battle scar next to his left eye.

He's also wearing an amber necklace that my great grandfather gave me when I was...6? At latest? He died when I was 7, so I can't imagine I was very old. And all of Gabriel's clothes are on backwards.

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In the past 24 hours

Gabriel fell down the stairs. The steep, terrifying, basement stairs at my parents' house. He fell from the top, all the way down to the concrete floor at the bottom. I heard the crash, and then the silence before the screams start, which is so much worse than when the screams are instantaneous. He is fine. He has a bloody scrape next to his eye. It's not too ugly, but he's an extremely careful child, and hardly ever hurts himself, so it's alarming to look at all the same. He's since been going down stairs by scooting on his bottom.

Last night Gabriel slept like a baby. I mean that literally. He woke up every 20 or 30 minutes whimpering and fussing until around 5am, when he finally slept soundly. I called in sick today. It was the sickness of headache and exhaustion.

Driving south on Bay, I passed a coyote running north. He looked lost.

I went to the toy store. I saw about a thousand things that would be perfect for Gabriel. In the absence of one thing that was the most perfect of all, I left with nothing.

At the dry cleaners, I was picking up a sweater. Someone got all their t-shirts dry cleaned. One says, "My other car is a Harley." Another says, "Raider Nation." Who are you?

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Daniel Nathaniel Climber McTree

I am alternately shocked that my brother's turning 12 today, because that's so old! And big! And he's just a baby! and shocked that he's turning 12 today because that's so young! Can you believe I have a brother who's only 12? Who's still in elementary school?

Daniel is one of the most genuinely funny people I know. And I don't just mean funny for a kid. I mean really, actually, he cracks everyone up, funny.

He's also one of the sweetest people I know. He's devoted without a thought to his friends and family.

He's also finally of a legal age to babysit my son.

Happy birthday!

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American

I had a dentist appointment this morning. The inauguration was playing over the P.A. system; the system that normally plays soft jazz and easy listening. My dentist's voice broke as we were talking about how much this day means, to all of us, for all of us.

Walking down Pacific Ave, a woman sitting in her car rolled down all her windows and turned up her car stereo as President Obama began to speak. The entire sidewalk was frozen. A street sweeper paused with his head cocked to one side. A man in a suit sat on a bench to finish his coffee. I stopped, willing to be a few more minutes late.

The community here, listening together, what's happening in our world, what can I say? I cried. A little. Today? I'm proud of us.

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A thousand ways to break my heart

Gabriel and Elliot come in from my mom's garden, buck naked, covered in pomegranate juice, jubilant, holding hands. They continue from the back porch, across the living room, out the front door, my sister and I watching their progress. It is night.

Laura: Where are you guys going?

Elliot: We go *unintelligible.* (Elliot talks a lot now, but if you don't know what he's talking about, it can be impossible to interpret)

Laura: What?

Elliot: *unintelligible*

Me: Gabriel where are you guys going?

Gabriel: We're going to San Diego to see my sister!

Me: Oh. How are you getting there?

Gabriel & Elliot, in unison: Walking.

Laura: How do you walk to San Diego?

Gabriel: You turn right, then you turn left, then you go to San Diego, and we're gonna visit my sister! Ooh let me call her!

He picks up the Fisher Price play phone.

Gabriel: "My sister? We're coming to visit you! I'm bringing Elliot! And I'm bringing some toys to share!"

Eventually, we dissuaded them from their journey with dinner and storybooks.

Gabriel has a half sister, Brea. She's 11. She lives in Southern California somewhere. Probably not San Diego, but it was San Diego at one point. I was talking to Gabriel about how his aunt and uncles are my brothers and sister, and he wanted to know if he had brothers or sisters. I told him he did. And then, at his request, I told him everything I know about her, which is admittedly little. Was that wrong? I don't think so.

To my knowledge, K has not seen his daughter for at least 5 years. Despite his legal right to know where his daughter lives, he claims that he has no idea where she could be. I think this makes it easier for him to ignore the situation. While there's no way for me to know all the details, it can't be easy, or free of hurt. I have many complaints and much distrust when it comes to Gabriel's father, but I do believe he loves his children.

I think that regardless of K's seemingly failed relationship with his daughter and/or her mother, it is Gabriel's right to know his sister. I would like to write Brea's mother a letter. I would like to send some photos. I don't even know if she knows she has a brother. Does she even know?

K has repeatedly refused to give me any information. Even a last known address? Even the address of her maternal grandmother? Surely I could mail something there? I've emailed K's parents to ask if they, as her grandparents, know how to track her down. Those requests have been met with no response at all. I suspect this is out of some sort of position of solidarity with their son. I don't know her mother's last name, I don't know how to find her. I seek only to open a line of communication, so that someday, these children may know one another as family. That is their right. They are siblings. The should know each other. They should have that choice. They are children.

For my part, I am baffled by this unwillingness to help Gabriel know this girl, this shared blood. I would love it if K's family took a more involved role in Gabriel's life. They are his uncles, his cousins, his grandparents. I believe a lot of their distance is indeed geographical. But his sister, as far as I know his sister lives in California, and I think that it's Gabriel's right to grow up knowing her. I don't think that anyone should deny him that.

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January Saturday

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On the bus

A girl gets on. She has seven deep slashes on each wrist, newly transforming into thick purple scars from peeling scabs. She's wearing skinny jeans, a trendy shirt. She spends the entire ride on her cell phone, giggling and talking loudly.

Someone gets off, and I, who have been standing, take his seat. A woman glares at me for the rest of the ride.

I am wearing headphones, sunglasses, reading a book. The Eastern European woman next to me tries to talk to me. I ignore her. She speaks. I say nothing. Finally, she taps me on the shoulder. I take a bud out of my ear, push my sunglasses up onto my head, look at her inquiringly:
"It's a lovely day, don't you think?"

A man will not stop itching his leg. He grates at it furiously through his pants. I become convinced that he has fleas.

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Tag.

A Reason To Write tagged me in a questionnaire, one word answers.

1. Where is your cell phone? purse
2. Where is your significant other? not
3. Your hair color? ish
4. Your family? everywhere
5. Who you miss the most? lots
6. Your favorite thing? fluff
7. Your dream last night? reminiscent
8. Your dream/goal? security
9. The room you’re in? work
10. Your hobby? knit
11. Your fear? loneliness
12. Where do you want to be in six years? peaceful
13. Where were you last night? home
14. What you’re not? jealous
15. One of your wish list items? camera
16. Where you grew up? here
17. The last thing you did? break
18. What are you wearing? purple
19. Your TV? unused
20. Your pet? dead?
21. Your computer? MacBook
22. Your mood? concerned
23. Missing someone? always
24. Your car? registered!
25. Something you’re not wearing? socks
26. Favorite store? crossroads
27. Your Summer? quiet
28. Love someone? many
29. Your favorite color? greens
30. When is the last time you laughed? today
31. Last time you cried? unmemorable

If you wanna play, whoever you are, just answer the questions on your own blog :)

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The DMV totally steals babies and resells them as midget slaves.

So back in November or something I realized that the DMV was fucking up my life, and I finally managed to get my hands on that driver's license they had owed me since June. Even if I had realized then that my registration renewal was writhing in the Depths of Hell, it would have been too late, cuz it was totally due in Ocotber, and the sons of bitches never sent it to me.

I noticed on Saturday. Well, full disclosure, K noticed on Saturday. "Do you know that your stickers are expired?" "Um. No."

I tried to call on Monday but the evil bastards did that thing where you wait on hold For Ever and then a recording says, "We are too busy to take your call. *Click*"

Balls.

I called on Tuesday, waited like 40 minutes to talk to someone, and then I told them how my registration was due in October but I never received the notice and it was totally their fault because they're the ones who fucked up my license and sent it to a non-existant address.

Then the guy asked me if I'd moved and I was like, Bitch Please. I haven't moved suckers, y'all are just fucked up. Then he told me that wasn't so because my license and my registration didn't talk to each other and I was like Huh. That doesn't make any sense.

Then he asked me for my license plate number so he could look it up and I don't know that, and then he asked for my VIN, because yeah, I don't remember my license plate by my VIN? I've totally got you COVERED. I told him I know my license number and he was all, we're not supposed to use that, so I asked if that meant that they COULD use that. Well yeah, but we can't. Can't you just ask me a whole bunch of personal information like how often I trim my nose hair and figure it out? Well we have all that stuff, but we're not supposed to look at it.

Right.

That makes me feel just super about what's going in YOUR office.

As an aside, that guy totally freaked me out cuz he had total normal California accent until he told me that DMV employees "Ought not use driver's license information to verify registration." Oh you ought not? Where the fuck was I when we wandered into a Jane Austen novel?

So I called today, yada yada yada same ridiculousness where they tell me there's NO POSSIBLE WAY my driver's license address and my registration address are linked to the same NON-EXISTENT address but then after about eleventy seven and a half minutes it turned out that oh yeah! They totally are! Fuck you in the neck DMV. Fuck you for serious. So I told dude to suck it and the upshot is that now I have to go in person to beg them to waive my late fees. Suck.

Tomorrow morning I "get" to skip work to sit in the DMV, which is totally not the same thing as skipping work to sit in a hot tub, and I'm looking forward to it zero percent. Just saying.

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I'll just distract you with these!

This is probably, like, the best photo I've EVER taken of Mira, or something:

This is either the face of eternal beauty, or a mummy. I'll let you be the judge:

If you ever want to see a psychic, I suggest this one. For one thing it was free, and for another she's a quadruplet. Also she freaked me right the fuck out by knowing Simon's name, my grandmother's name, that Laura's afraid to fly, describing Mike perfectly, knowing Laura is in "some sort of medical training" (like nursing school), knowing I "work with books somehow" (like I have a library degree and work in a bookstore), knowing our family's practically all boys, and a whole lot else. It was CRAZY, yo.

It's not often that you see fear and disgust so neatly mingled on my sister's face, but this chick was SERIOUSLY creepy.

You wanna see me drunk? I live to oblige:

Do you know that I'm friends with one of the most heart-stoppingly A-freaking-DORABLE couples on the planet? You should see their Christmas card, it'll make you barf it's so fantastic:

And finally, you want me to TELL YOU A THING OR TWO?? Okay.

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What's making me happy right now?

Gabriel calls his T-Rex a Dinosaurus Resk.

I got four new pairs of pants for $50 last weekend.

I haven't stepped on the fish yet. The longer I go without finding it, the more convinced I become that it jumped down the drain, which is the tidiest possible solution at this point.

I've finished my latest knitting project; ass-kickingly cool arm warmers. Should I take pictures? I don't know if you care about my knitting, or want to look at it or anything. If you do, I made some ass-kickingly cool arm warmers, and they're my first project knit in the round.

I'm re-reading the Bartimaeus series. LOVE those books.

The weather's been gorgeous.

I packed lunches for me and Gabey today and yesterday.

I don't have to work any more overtime until the beginning of April.

Gabriel loves both (a) helping me with household chores, and (b) doing Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred (although between you and me, he totally phones it in towards the end).

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We are Five

From left to right, that's Laura, James, me, Duncan, and Daniel (Simon's down in front). In order of age we go Laura, me, Duncan, James, Daniel (Simon). Holy family resemblance.

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It's definitely NOT THERE

Last night I tucked Gabriel into his bed, and sat on the couch knitting until he fell asleep. I then proceeded to do a couple chores; clean up the kitchen, fold some laundry, feed the fish.

This morning, I was making our lunches while Gabriel was still asleep. As I was putting something in the sink, I happened to glance at the fish bowl. Empty. I look on the counter. Empty. I look in the sink. Empty. I spread the little plastic drain guard thingy and peer into the garbage disposal. Empty. Barefoot and bleary, I am thusly terrified of finding the missing fish with my foot. I mount a frantic search of my kitchen area, which happens to be freshly tidied and swept. I am confounded. There is nothing.

So we left the house.

Will Gabriel find the fish? Where is the fish? I find myself unable to concentrate, obsessed with a (presumably) dead fish.

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On getting along

Yesterday morning K picked up Gabriel. A couple hours later they stopped by my work to drop something off. Several of my coworkers remarked that we didn't seem to hate each other, and really we seemed like we got along just fine.

Well, yeah. I don't hate K. I'm pretty sure I don't hate anyone, and besides that it's pretty hard to hate the father of your child. I mean, Gabriel got half his genes from that man. Disgust? Disappointment? Frustration? Irritation? Yes to all of those, but I've never hated him.

And we do get along when we're face to face. The most pressing and obvious reason is that if we're in the same room, I promise that Gabriel is there too, and it's in nobody's best interest for us to fight in front of our child. Less obvious than that, neither one of us is particularly fighty or confrontational anyways. Do I think that K is essentially worthless insofar as maintaining his life as a responsible adult? Yes. But he's personable and it's perfectly easy to make small talk about the weather.

Unrelated, this marks my 500th post. I think maybe I'm supposed to do something fancy, but I'm not sure what, and Gabriel's chanting TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE CHOLO LEAN LIKE A CHOLO LEAN LIKE A CHOLO TWINKLE LITTLE STAR ELBOWS UP SIDE TO SIDE HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU ARE TWINKLE TWINKLE TWINKLE and it's making it hard to concentrate.

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The last week gets sorta crazy

January 21st my brother Daniel turns 12.
January 23rd my parents turn 31 years married.
January 23rd also K.dot turns 34. This is not really a concern because I don't give a fuck, but slightly a concern because Gabriel might someday. So I'm making note. And yes, 34. That's old enough to be a grownup.
January 25th my cousin Caleb turns 6.
January 26th Gabriel turns 3.
January 26th also Caleb's dad (my aunt's #1 dude) turns something, but I don't care. I note it for scheduling purposes only.

That's just the immediate family stuff. I also have some very dear friends who were birthed and borned in Enero. And a variety of shitty obligations, dentist appointments, doctors, etc. And of course the overtime I work this time of year. And....Gabriel's birthday.

It's on a Monday you see.

I have to work on that Monday, because I have to take most of that Wednesday (the 28th) off for other important and mandatory and less-than-exciting things.

It's not like he's born in some month of birthday wasteland, so's I can schedule a party wherever it suits me. There's too much OTHER going on all around for me to fit anything in.

AND. I don't know what to do. Normally I'd say that Gabriel's not old enough to care too much, but with Caleb's party happening the day before, he might have some expectations that I can't hope to fulfill.

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Happy Saturday!

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Vague attempt to explain where I went to high school

I went to normal public school through 9th grade. I like to be very clear on that point, because I think it's important to emphasize that I really do know what it's like to go to normal school with normal amounts of people. Then, for 10th-12th grade, I went here.

• We had a guru. Seriously.
  
• There were 11 people in my graduating class.
• Performing arts are mandatory.
• Every spring, we perform this play.
• You are not allowed to wear shoes inside.
• Many of the teachers and students are also members of the community.
• Now, there's a dedicated school campus, but when I went there, we had class in any number of these facilities, which led to a lot of walking, and a lot of rescheduling if they were rented out during school time (yknow, for yoga retreats or whatever).
  

Arts were pretty heavily emphasized. Here's a print one of my classmates made of our English teacher:

Despite the freakishly small student body, they have a freakishly good volleyball team, which wins championships and stuff. I think that last year the girls' team won the CA State Championship, which, considering the fact that there are likely less than 30 girls in the high school student body, is pretty freaking impressive.

Speaking of freakish, this is also the school I talk about if I'm ever mentioning the fact that the girls at my high school were freakishly good looking. Never in my life have I felt as gawky and awkward as I did at MMS. Sure, the nature of being 16 contributes to that; I probably would have been gawkward anywhere, but comparing myself on a daily basis to a bunch of beautiful, skinny girls didn't help. At 125 lbs, I was a fat kid. Seriously?
WAY back when I was writing about my Halloween costumes, I was SERIOUSLY wishing for a scanner, because you can't even imagine how awesome I look dressed up as the letter H. That wish and desire were just magnified 47-fold when this post came into my brain. How to paint you a picture of me, dressed as Sampati the wingless vulture? How to paint the picture of the rafting trips/ski trips/trip to D.C./trip to Italy/trip to Mendocino?

This is also why even if I wasn't close friends with someone in high school itself, um, we weren't very many, and I feel like we know each other really well, and I'm always excited to see them.

High school was, to say the least, different.

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Don't say I never gave you nuthin

Via TBogg. It's from November or sumthin, but if it's new to me, then it's NEW TO THE UNIVERSE, of which I am the center. Duh.

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You totally wish you were my friend

If you don't you can suck it.

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Daphne Love

I'm totally trying to convince my friend Daphne that we should get married and she should support me financially. I even offered to convert to Judaism.

She seems to think it's a problem that we both want to have sex with men, and that she lives in Phoenix.

I think she doesn't know how to live the dream.

I'm submitting this as proof that we make a really cute family, and that I make a great trophy wife.

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This thing about sleep

Gabriel slept in his crib throughout his infancy. I put him to sleep there, and there he would stay until maybe five, six o'clock in the morning, when he would start chirping and squawking, and I would bring him into bed with me and let him nurse, while I dozed until I was truly ready to start my day. I relish in snuzzling a warm baby as much as the next girl, but I was not interested in co-sleeping. Ever or at all.

When Gabriel was 15 months old, we moved out of our apartment with K. I went from being a stay-at-home mom to working full time. Gabriel went from spending his days with me to spending his days with a stranger. He went from living with both of his parents to living with only one.

When we moved, Gabriel started sleeping with me, he rekindled his practically extinguished interest in nursing, he reattached.

That was okay.

I did eventually wean him. It wasn't a traumatic event. At the time his father was more...around, and he was spending a couple nights a week there anyways, and as we settled into our new life, that just happened naturally.

The sleeping hasn't really changed.

Gabriel spends 10 hours a day at preschool. During the week, we see each other for perhaps 4 hours a day (maximum), and 2 or 3 of those hours are spent with getting dressed and ready in the morning, with eating dinner, taking a bath, getting into bed at night. I fervently believe that we don't see each other enough, and there's simply nothing I can do about that. Bills don't pay themselves, and I don't get any consistent financial help.

At night though. In bed. Sure we're both asleep, and we're dreaming about different things and we're in our own worlds and we're not spending time together, sure. But I roll over onto my side, and he's there. I check the clock, and he's curled up against me warm and safe. He wakes up for a sip of water, he opens his eyes and rolls over onto his tummy, and I'm there. It feels like we're stealing extra hours in our impossibly short days. And in the middle of the night, when he reaches over to brush my cheek so lightly, to hold my hand, to touch me and make sure I'm still there? There's no dinner to get on the table, no laundry to fold, no go go we're late let's go. It's just us.

Gabriel will be three in a couple weeks.

He's not a baby anymore. He's a kid.

Since shortly before Christmas, Gabriel's been sleeping in his own bed.

He wakes up a couple times during the night, sometimes panicked, sometimes sad, but I'm just in the next room, and generally he's been very good about it, sleeping by himself until it's practically daylight, and only then sneaking into bed with me for a stolen snuggle, for the shared warmth.

He seems to be okay.

This was a choice I made, because I know he's getting to be too big for this baby stuff.

But I miss him.

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Interviewed by the best

Heinous sent me some questions to answer in a sort of awesomely creative meme. And...they're actually all hard and thought provoking or whatever. I mean. Jeez. Give a girl a break. These are they:

What is the bravest thing that you feel you've ever done? Physically, emotionally, or whatever.
The most traditionally ballsy thing I've done is travel around Europe by myself, but that didn't exactly feel daring to me. It just felt like my life. No. I'm not very courageous. So there are exactly three brave things that I've done, all as a parent:
First, the choice when I was pregnant to move to Chico and try to make a family against my own family's wishes. It really took a lot from me to ignore my disapproving parents and strike out on my own to do what I thought was best.
The next brave thing that I did was admit that things with K were never going to be right, move on, and move out. Signing up for public assistance, going back to work full time, plunging my life into disarray; it was worth it in the end, but it was very, very hard.
The final brave thing that I did was move from Chico back to Santa Cruz when K stopped being a co-parent. I had to admit that I had been wrong, and believe me, that took a lot of thought and a lot of work and a lot of back-breaking emotional pain.

What one talent do you wish you had that you don't?
I wish I had any musical ability at all. Even a little bit.

We all have our reasons for blogging but what would be your ultimate goal for your blog or as a blogger?
I blog because I like to write, and this is guaranteed and self-published outlet for my writing. The awesome community I've found here is pretty fancy too. I guess that in a fantasy world, my blog would somehow factor into the dream where I'm a "real" writer? I dunno. That's not something that I'm actively striving towards, but I'll admit that it's in the back of my head.

You can trade lives with any one person for a month. Who would it be and why?
I would want it to be someone unimaginably different from me, so the experience would be entirely new. That's all I've got.

There's a fire and your family is safe but you have the chance to save any one item from your house. What would it be and why?
I'd have to pick my photo albums. You know, the ones from before digital? The ones that can't be replaced? I could never get those back if I lost them.

You have the chance to go back in time and warn yourself before making a bad choice. What choice would it be and what would you tell yourself?
Ooh. This is hard because arguably the worst choice I've made was dating K, but when it's all said and done I have Gabriel, who I wouldn't trade for the world, so I can't regret anything that led up to that.
So...Secondary to that I guess I would warn myself not to buy my car, which was like some sort of evil talisman. I got in three car accidents inside of a year, the final one totaling both it and my foot. It ended up costing me an unnecessary fortune.

Wanna play? Post a comment here saying so (you can still comment here if you don't want questions but you want to tell me how you love my eyelashes or something). Include your email address if it's not built into your commenting settings. I'll send you some questions. Answer them on your blog, and pass it on.

Also? This is practically the last day to enter into my Super ObamaRama Inauguration Gear Giveaway, and I don't understand why no one wants a thong with Barack's face on it. Seriously.

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Emailings

This is all quoted directly over the past few days.

Me: As of right now you owe me $900, plus $160 in overdraft fees from your bounced check. Come Monday (the 5th), that will increase to $1500 plus overdraft fees. I am curious of your plans to resolve this matter.

Him: I will resolve it and I am not entertaining questions as to how. You will get the normal money on time and I will let you know when anything else is coming when it is coming.

Him: Jenny, I am not forgetting about what needs to happen. When I get it, you’ll get it, it can’t come any faster.

Me: ???

Him: I sent it the monthly, I am working on the past due.

Me: Did you send a check?

Him: I cancelled the last check and I am sending a new one

Me: What?
You canceled what last check?

Him: The one that bounced so you cannot resubmit that check.

Me: I wasn't planning on it. It bounced. Why would I cash a bad check? That's retarded.

Him: I know but I had to be sure.

Him: I sent $600 that will clear just fine and I will get the rest shortly.

Me: So you sent a new check? In the mail? What bank do you have? I'd rather take it to your bank and cash it.

He just makes me feel all stabby. And then my eye starts twitching. And then I have a headache. Yknow?

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Proof that yesterday? I was looking my best

The sad part is that yesterday was pretty typical as far as the Frazzled At Work look that I regularly achieve. And at least now you know that I take what I dish out in the merciless teasing department.

Coworker A: What about today made you decide to wear your bangs pinned back like an indolent teenager?
Me (laughing): Well, I didn't have time to take a shower this morning.
Coworker A: Ah, so you thought, "Aha! I've got a barrette, and today I wish to look like a sulky 13-year-old." It's just all or nothing isn't it?

Me: This sweater is a FAIL. It's fuzzing pink all over everything.
Coworker B: Ew it's like an STD! Keep it away from me!

Coworker A (later): Oh I didn't notice the school marm bun you're sporting!
Me: Suck it. Did you notice my sweater FAIL?
Coworker A: Of course I did honey.

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Bits and Pieces

My mom bought me a fabulously fluffy, obnoxiously hot pink, angora sweater from a thrift store over the weekend. I wore it today and have pink fuzz all over my whole world. It's flaws revealed, the offending thing will be disposed of shortly. I do love how garishly awesome it is though.

I don't like working until seven every night. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

Tights are not pants. Do not wear them as such. Please and thank you.

I can drink a dozen cups of black tea, and it never comes close to the warm buzzy fuzzy awakening of that first cup of coffee in the morning.

My work shirt is "unisex," which actually means that it's a men's shirt that they also order in small sizes. It makes me look like an ungainly bubble.

I haven't had a hair cut since my failed attempt to restore my head to its natural color. My bangs are hovering around the tip of my nose these days. Should I keep 'em or grow 'em out?

I haven't dyed my hair since then either, and, curiously, I don't have any roots. There's a sort of a gradual fade, but that's only if you're me, and spending arguably too much time staring at your head in the bathroom mirror when you really ought to be cooking dinner or folding the laundry. I think my hair has taken on some chameleon aspects. Okay. Should I stay red or return to something other?

For the first time in years, I actually have a void in my shoe wardrobe that legitimately needs to be filled. I've spent 10 years buying shoes that I don't need, purely for the love of the things. Now that I need something, can I find it? I assure you, the answer is no.

In regards to child support, I'm still owed for half of way-back-in-September, along with December, along with January. My finances are stretched pale and thin, and I'm suffering from increasing anxiety.

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An Update, An Award (Really just an award, but whatever)

My bloggy buddy Heinous pulled this award out of a magic hat for me. It was either to make me feel better and Stop Moping Already, or else it was one of those cruel teenaged jokes where the most popular boy in school asks you to prom, and you say yes and get all excited only to have him drive by your house with his friends and laugh at you on the night itself, while you're left to spend the evening weeping in your gown. Or so you think until it turns out that the boy you're really meant to be with shows up and takes you and you fall in love and kiss under the stars. What? It's not like I spend my evenings drinking wine, watching chick flicks and tearing up at the happy ending...I swear....Shut up.
Anyways, the award goes like this:

“These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must may choose eightish more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”

This is all kinds of flattering, because no one ever thinks of me as kind, let alone as disinterested in self-aggrandizement. Between you and me, self-aggrandizement doesn't sound half so bad. I'm counting on the subtle language edits, first of Heinous himself, and then of my own, because if you think about it too much, or learn how to count, you might realize that I can't. Eight's just such an awfully lot of people to remember to tell, and my brain doesn't work if it's not handed multiples of five.

Minnesota Matron
Holly at Why Mom Drinks Rum
Badass Geek
Brie at Ju-Ju Coop!
Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka

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Sometimes I REALLY can't give him everything

It started off innocently enough. Christmas had just passed, and we were reveling in our spoils. The holiday had provided the sun and the moon to Gabriel's young eyes. Yet his birthday, in January, is just around the corner. So I asked him.

"What do you want for your birthday?"

After a couple moments of very serious thought, he looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes of his.

"I want to be six."

"You want to be six?"

"Yeah. When I'm six, I'll be in kindergarten, and I know how to read, and I can ride a really big kid bike with just two big wheels and not the little baby wheels that I need to keep me from falling down."

"That's true, but this year you're going to be three. That's halfway there."

"But I want to go to kindergarten. And I want to read. And I want to be six."

"You'll probably learn how to ride your bike without training wheels before you turn six. And maybe read too. Who knows?"

"But I won't be in kindergarten."

"You start kindergarten when you're five actually."

"But not three. I want six!"

This discussion was taking place right before naptime, so I ended it there. I told my mom and my sister, because I thought it was so darned cute, but I honestly didn't pay too much thought to it beyond that.

Except.

Well.

Gabriel is convinced that he's turning six on his birthday. He's going to be two. And then he's going to be six. He asked Mr. Halloween for a Spider-Man costume, and Mr. Halloween delivered. He asked Santa for a Spider-Man bike and a cookie, and (despite the almost-FAIL) he got just that. He's not really understanding why he can't be six. THAT'S the one thing he wants.

For my part, I feel like maybe I've come through for him these past holidays as best I could, and I feel like that was the right thing to do. I don't think I should have broken him of his hopes. His requests were so reasonable, his hope so genuine, why would I do that?

Asking to be six years old on your third birthday is just about the least reasonable thing. Ever in the world.

Yet the question remains. What should I get him for his birthday?

P.S., I'm still having this giveaway.

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2009

I wish everyone a VERY Happy New Year. Starting next week I'm on the triannual overtime jag for a couple weeks, in case I'm not around much.

I also wish that $300 of my paycheck hadn't been sucked into overdraft fees and bringing my account back to zero due to K's failure as a human. Of course, I've resolved not to dwell or be disappointed, but money's money, and I can't deny it: that one hurt.

Although, sometimes one wonders how a girl is expected to pay her bills, and answers are not forthcoming....Dear me.

I'm still giving something away over here.

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